


Sea Glass

by Mackintosh (orphan_account)



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Child Death, Everyone Needs A Hug, Everything Hurts, Gen, Grief/Mourning, How Do I Tag, Mentions of Blood, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:35:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24640984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Mackintosh
Summary: The memoirs of an account in a universe where good things could only last for so long.(Heavily inspired by Bernadette Noll's poem "Sea Glass")
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Alfred Pennyworth, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne
Kudos: 7





	Sea Glass

_**I want to age like sea glass.** _

_**Smoothed by tides, not broken.** _

* * *

The first time Bruce Wayne saw him, he came out from behind the circus' backstage curtains along with his parents with a huge, bright smile on his face trying to cover up the unease and tension in his shoulders. The crowds cheered for the Flying Graysons as they started taking their positions at the top of the beams, swinging back and forth on the flying trapeze, living up to their worldly reputation as one-of-a-kind stars.

He was a performer—a born artist, with eyes as bright and as _blue_ as the ocean. He didn't notice how bright they were back then. His smile was contagious, silent laughter escaping from him as he swung from his post, beaming with joy. He flew through the sky like he was meant to be there and for one moment, for the boy, everything was perfect.

And then that moment ended, when with a loud " _twang_ " along with the gruesome sound of bones cracking (not the most unfamiliar sound, not the most welcome either), when Dick Grayson became an orphan.

There was a moment of shocked silence before people screamed in horror, but his eyes were trained on the boy who knelt and cried in grief in front of his parents' bodies. Millions of thoughts were running through his mind as he watched the tear tracks make their way down the young boy's face, blue eyes dulling with the pain of death. The face that was too young to be facing death and much too young to be familiar with it.

The scene was so familiar to him, seeing it so many times in his nightmares and never did he wish for it to happen again. He knew the feeling of that sudden realization that you would never see them again, thinking you had failed them somehow, thinking you never really got the chance to know them as much as you would have if you were older. Death is an old friend but it never really gets any easier; he would know. So as he watched the boy be taken away, he knew he would see the young Grayson again, and perhaps if all went well, he’d see him as someone else.

~~_(He shouldn't have.)_ ~~

And so, he saw the boy again. After seeing the juvenile service and the orphanage's lack of care towards the child, he ended up making a decision. A decision that, if only he had known back then, would cost him greatly.

He adopted Dick Grayson as his ward, as the boy refused to replace his biological father, and well, it was understandable. Dick spent days tip-toeing around the manor, cautious of the silence and wary of the two adults roaming around and doing whatever they usually do. He was stubborn and reckless, going after Tony Zucco by himself with no preparation. He ended up running into Batman, who was working on the same case.

When he brought the boy to the Batcave (as the boy had named it, he didn’t mind) and watched as the boy discovered who was behind the mask, Bruce watched as his eyes sparkled with a fiery determination to serve justice, so much like himself, but so different. That was the moment Bruce Wayne- Batman, knew that Dick Grayson was going to be more than just his ward, but his son, even if the papers said otherwise. Unlike the man Bruce was, Dick was undeterred by the dark, forged by flames of passion, finding happiness with his admirable optimism even in the dusk of Gotham. Because this time, this time for sure, he'd get it right. 

And perhaps; he thought while listening to Dick compare his eyes to the sea glass he held; this time, it'd be a lot better.

~~_(He was wrong. He was so wrong.)_ ~~

* * *

_**I want to ride the waves, go with the flow, and feel the impact of the surging tides.** _

* * *

Dick loved flying as much as he loved to free fall. Batman didn't like this, but he didn't voice his objection out loud aside from a small "Hrm." and a weak glare. Of course, that also meant Dick was doing it constantly, and to be fair, most of his teammates didn't mind. Batman and Alfred disapproved, along with Jason, the Crime Alley kid he met a few times and successfully befriended (who also disapproved strongly of his costume, but his leotard provided all the mobility he could ever need, besides, he's flexible and agile enough to avoid any hits!). He flew like the air was a safety net, where gravity was his friend.

The sky was his natural element, as the boy flew through the night with a charming smile on his face as if swinging off of buildings wasn't one of the most life-threatening things anyone has ever done. He was as unstoppable as Bruce was immovable.

Dick was an outstanding student and a good crime-fighter, a standard for all the other young heroes who came after him.

He proved himself to be worthy of the name Robin.

Robin was his name to keep, his legacy to fulfill. Soaring high, he moved just as graciously as he did on the ground. His motions were fluid and free, but extremely well-trained. It's not too dissimilar to Batman's professional grappling, but it's different. Batman lets him go on patrol, keeping a watchful eye over the colorful ball of energy that was his ward, his protégé, his son. He sometimes wondered if taking him in was the right choice. Perhaps, if he had the sufficient courage to take away the light of their lives and leave him with a more emotionally stable household, Dick may have been happier, and Bruce might just be a bit sadder. But for now, his son was there in his life and other people's lives, giving love to those who needed it. 

Becoming a leotard-wearing vigilante wasn't the healthiest coping mechanism, but who was he to say so? Dressing up as a bat with a leather fetish wasn’t a healthy coping mechanism either.

Maybe it was the years getting through to him, but Bruce had always been 'Dad' to him as much as his biological father was.

He wasn't the one to catch him on the trapeze or sing lullabies to him every night, but he was always the one who caught him when he grappled through buildings and wrapped him in the warmest hugs during a thunderstorm or a bad case of nightmares. He didn't have the same warmth in his gestures, nor did he have the laid-back movements, but he had more emotions in his eyes than he could ever express. Bruce wasn't, and never will be John Grayson, but he did his best, and he did it well.

Bruce and Alfred raised him as a member of their small family, and he grew up just fine. More than fine, though everyone else seemed to disagree with Batman taking in a young child as a mini-hero. Dick loved his small family and his friends. He loved them, cared for them with all the love his young heart could give. He trusted them fully, and they trusted him in return. Trusted them to catch him when he falls, to be there for him. To save him when he needed it most.

And, yet, the one moment he called for their help (needed it _desperately_ ), they didn't arrive. Not on time.

* * *

_**When I am caught between the rocks and a hard place, I will rest.** _

* * *

_Dick was 14 when it happened. He was returning home to Gotham after a mission with the Titans._

_Two-Face broke out of Arkham._

_Unfortunately, it wasn't Batman that he was after._

* * *

Robin, the Boy Wonder, went missing. His tracker and comms were down with no clues left behind.

Batman didn't sleep for days trying to track down Robin. Alfred tried to persuade him into going to bed but he wasn't faring any better either. The manor was quiet, eerily so, without the constant chatter and bouncing steps of Dick Grayson. Eventually, Batman found a lead, a trace that led him towards two locations; a warehouse in Amusement Mile, or Wayne Tower.

Calling in a favor from the Commissioner who lived near Wayne Tower, he rumbled out an order to rescue his sidekick (partner _, son)_ if he was there. As he was nearing the warehouse, he only wished that he could make it in time. Urging the Batmobile to go as fast as it could. Not again, not again, please, don’t let him be too late. Not _again, not again--_

It turns out; the warehouse was the right decision to make, but one that should have been made earlier. Robin, bloodied and bruised, staggered from the edge of the rooftop with only Two-Face's left hand holding him and keeping him steady as his other hand held a coin. A flip of a coin was all it took to decide between life and death.

Batman ran, _ran_ _faster than he ever did in his life_ , when a stun grenade kept him from moving forward and to his horror, he heard not one, but _two_ explosions ringing in his head.

_Two-Face disappeared in smoke the moment Batman regained his bearings._

* * *

_**And when I am ready, I will catch a wave and let it carry me where I belong.** _

* * *

Robin fell with a bullet hole to his head, lifeless blue eyes wide from the few seconds before he fell to his death.

The young boy died thinking he’d be saved like he always had been. Knowing and believing that his mentor, his parent⏤ his _father_ , would catch him when he fell.

_(He didn’t.)_

The wonder in his big blue eyes was replaced with an empty gaze that should never have been on his face in the first place. Emptiness didn't suit him, it never suited him, for a boy who felt everything deeper than others and saw good in everything. A boy who saw the world not for what it was, but for what it could be. What it couldn't be. _What it could never be._

At last, the boy did his final free fall, but it wasn’t how one would normally imagine.

* * *

_**I want to be picked up and held gently by those who delight in my well-earned patina,** _

_**And appreciate the changes I went through to achieve this luster.** _

* * *

That night, Batman held the lifeless body in his arms, cradling his boy like he did when he made his nightmares go away on those sleepless nights. Carefully, he guided his eyelids shut, so he'd never have to see what once were eyes filled with the strongest emotions, now void of life. The skies wept for the boy they once favored so dearly. When he carried him back home, the look on Alfred's pale face was one he'd hoped he'd never have to see again after his parents' death. When they buried him, Gotham mourned briefly for Dick Grayson but no one was there for his funeral except for the ones closest to him, the ones who mourned for Robin. A boy who loved; _the boy who died too soon._

People had always known he'd grow up into a good person, knew this for a fact. But never did they imagine that he'd never get the chance to grow up. It was a sad thought, but God knows Dick Grayson would never want them to think such depressing thoughts at his own funeral ( _‘If there was a God’_ , the hooded boy in red at the back thought bitterly).

Bruce didn't show up at the funeral. But later that day, when everyone else had gone, Bruce stared blankly at the stone between Thomas and Mary Grayson, the hole in his heart forming once again in the shape of the bullet hole that ended his son's life.

That night not one, but two heroes died. That night, pain overtook the darkness in Bruce's heart that was once held back by the light that love had provided. Foster father or not, no parent deserves to outlive their own child, and no child deserves to succumb to the cold, pale hands of death in their youth. 

Too young.

He was too young.

* * *

_**I want to enjoy the journey and let my preciousness be, not in spite of the impacts,**_

_**But because of them,** _

_**I want to age like sea glass.** _

The simple words written on his gravestone was but an ode to Bruce Wayne’s love for the lost child. A testament to the light Dick Grayson brought into not one, but many lives.

* * *

_That night, Gotham mourned for the death of a star,_

_That night, friends mourned for the death of a child,_

_That night, the family mourned for the death of a hero._

* * *

Bruce didn’t take it easy. How could he?

Hours were spent with empty bottles, staring at the space that was once occupied by a force brighter than even the sun. If you looked closer, you could see faint smears of blood on the edges of the family portrait in the hallway. Silent sobs could be heard in the master bedroom of Wayne Manor (Batman didn’t cry, Bruce Wayne did), for the first few weeks after the funeral. Broken frames, days of staring at an oak-stained door, waking up and hoping, just hoping, that it was all a cruel dream. That it was nothing more than a delusion his mind made up to torment him.

“Burn it all.”

“But sir-”

“Just… _do it_.”

_Batman_ grieved in the dark, Bruce Wayne _burned_.

He couldn’t bear to see the traces of the boy surrounding him, so he threw it all away. His boy could never return to him. He couldn’t accept that, so he pretended that it never happened, as he watched the countless mementos burn in the very hearth of the fireplace, fingers trembling as he struggled not to save what was meant to burn from the very beginning.

All traces of Dick Grayson were burnt (by Bruce), hidden in the attic (by Alfred), or buried 6 feet with him.

He took down the portraits, all of them. Except one.

_The sole visible reminder that Dick Grayson existed._

A small, framed picture of the boy’s first time at the beach. The wide smile on his face, as he eagerly showed Bruce the small pieces of sea glass he had found on the sand, Bruce’s own smile showing as he tried to support the boy on his wobbly legs, trying to support him through the waves. Alfred took the picture with a slight upturn on his lips, wishing for more happy times to come.

A picture, hidden in one of the drawers in Bruce’s desk. Along with the remains of Martha Wayne’s pearl necklace, and his father’s wristwatch. In a drawer he never opened, ever since.

* * *

Jason Todd was caught trying to steal the Batmobile's tire irons by the man himself. Batman knew this boy, he was one of the people Di- _Robin_ used to know. He froze like a deer caught in headlights, with his dull maroon hoodie, scuffed sneakers, and his car greased hands holding the lug wrench so tightly in his grip. But when he recognized the caped crusader, he relaxed his stance, took a step back, and all but scoffed with a suspicious glare ( ~~but he could have sworn he saw some sympathy in his eyes- ).~~ "He was your son, wasn't he?" At those words, a cold shudder ran through his veins, replaced by an empty feeling he hadn't felt since he mourned for the boy who he was unable to save on time.

Perhaps that was why he made no move to send him to a proper orphanage like any normal person would do; perhaps that was why he led him towards the Batcave instead of dropping him off at Ma Gunn's. Jason made quips but never mentioned a thing about the boy he half-expected to be in the vehicle—Jason didn't get this far by blabbing about everything he noticed, so he kept his mouth shut in favor of his life. And if he noticed Batman go a little rigid at the sight of the suit in the clear glass case, well, that was no one's business but his. 

At the same time, Alfred was at the manor when he heard a knock at the door. When he opened it, a well-dressed boy who looked no more than the age of 10, cried, " _Batman needs a Robin!_ ". And just like that, Tim Drake joins their small family.

Perhaps, not all hope was lost.

Perhaps he could start anew, one step at a time.

But from that day forward, Dick Grayson’s name was never brought up in conversation, not even the embedded shards of sea glass in Bruce’s favorite cufflinks.

And perhaps, he’d slowly learn to be at peace with the life he lived.

_(No one noticed the abnormal lump on Dick’s grave, nor the corpse buried beneath, failing to rot.)_


End file.
